


Captive Audience

by hellkitty



Category: Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Tactile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-15
Updated: 2012-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellkitty/pseuds/hellkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Yeah, sorry. I ship everyone with everyone else in this continuity.  And a lot of people hate on Roche's new designs, but, wow, Drift is *hot*. So...had to be done.  I've been writing a LOT of crackyDrift lately.  Not sure if this is good or not.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Captive Audience

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, sorry. I ship everyone with everyone else in this continuity. And a lot of people hate on Roche's new designs, but, wow, Drift is *hot*. So...had to be done. I've been writing a LOT of crackyDrift lately. Not sure if this is good or not.

“Criminal,” Ultra Magnus muttered. “Always knew it.”

“Yes.” Drift shrugged. No point not owning up to it. Especially since at the moment there wasn’t a damn thing the law mech could do about it.

“So. What’s your angle? Ransom? Interrogation? Revenge?” Ultra Magnus tested the bonds against his wrists. His own restraints, and they were, of course, top of the line. Which meant, and he knew it, his struggle was fruitless. Still it was better than simply giving up.

“Who would I ransom you to? Rodimus? I could just ask him for money.” Drift rested his hip on the table, next to Ultra Magnus’s broad shoulder. “Interrogation?” He laughed. It was a weird, rusty sound. “Not really my strong suit. Revenge? For what?”

Ultra Magnus turned his head to face Drift. “How am I supposed to understand the devious workings of the criminal mind?”

Drift actually blinked. “Because you’ve been hunting them down for how many millions of megacycles?”

Ultra Magnus frowned. There was that. He boosted his estimation of Drift’s intelligence, grudgingly flagging it ‘cunning’. “So what are you going to do with me, then?” His fingers curled, trying to find whatever Drift had looped the restraints around that held his arms over his head. Also fruitless. Even if he managed to unhook himself, the high white pauldrons of his armor still pinned his arms overhead.

Frag. Drift had him trapped. He…almost respected the white and red mech. As much as he could respect the predicament, it didn’t endear the former Decepticon to him.

“Going to do?” Drift shrugged, pushing his other leg up onto the desk to kneel beside Ultra Magnus’s prone form. “Think the Decepticon line to say would be ‘anything I want to?’” A flicker in the tilted blue optics, almost amused.

“Not funny.” Not that anything ever was. He never saw the point in humor. Or really understood it. It had nothing to do with justice, so he figured it was better just to ignore it. He rocked his shoulders back, getting some slack in his bonds hands finding the cold metal of a sword overhead, pinning the restraints. Destruction of government property: also not funny. The Lost Light didn't have infinitely replaceable stores. And now this desk had a hole in it. Unserviceable.

“Maybe.” That enigmatic maybe-smile again, before one of the dark hands reached out, brushing one of Ultra Magnus’s rib struts. “Is this?”

“That,” Ultra Magnus said in his sternest voice, the voice that had quelled Arcee, as he tried to squirm away, “is a violation of Penal Code §451.26.252.”

“Which is?”

“Laying your hands on a duly appointed Officer of the Law.” He glowered down his bulky chassis at the smaller mech, whose face was half-hidden behind his red spaulder.

“Hands.” Drift leaned forward and Ultra Magnus felt the sudden jolt of current, the electric prickle of a glossa over one of his headlamps. “Say anything about mouths, or is that a separate charge?”

“Drift.” He knew it was no use asking for mercy. Decepticons were ruthless. And he refused to surrender his dignity. “I insist that you desist.”

“Nice rhyme.” The head popped up over his chassis, and Ultra Magnus was once again struck by the exotic, almost inscrutable face.

“This is not about rhyming. It is about kidnapping. Hostage taking. Physical assault.” He spluttered, too many charges he could file colliding in his cortex.

“Funny.” Drift moved, throwing one sleek armored thigh over Ultra Magnus’s hips. “I thought it was about getting laid.”

The vulgarity shocked Ultra Magnus. “Capital offense!”

“Interfacing?” Drift paused, straddling the white waist. The redlines of his own armor drew Ultra Magnus’s optics in…unprofessional directions. “Explains a lot, really.”

“Intimacy is expressly forbidden by POW protocols.”

“You’re not a prisoner of war.” The voice was cool and logical, but the hands were warm, enticing little contacts. The hands, two of them now, slicked up his ribstruts, and in, and up to his exposed underarms, the fingertips seeming to know expressly where excess charge pooled. Ultra Magnus shivered, feeling the ions shimmer and slide under the small, expert touches. “And I’ll stop, if you tell me to stop.” Another duck of the head out of sight, and a hot, tingling touch of a mouth on his pelvic armor.

“What do you think I’ve been telling you?”

A glint of a tilted blue optic over his chassis. “Been telling me all the laws I’m breaking. Different.” A red spaulder rose in a shrug. “For all I know, that kind of thing could turn you on.”

“Outrageous!” Ultra Magnus said, the second half of the word getting lost in a gasp as Drift’s fingers slipped up the seams in his underarms, the smaller mech’s EM field buzzing over his torso as Drift clambered up his body. The white helm hovered over his, the blue optics piercing into his own.

“Is it?” Drift asked, softly. “All this time, all those criminals. Never…excited you?” A slide of sensation: Drift’s knee, the armor slick on the chamfer of his thigh. “Bringing them to…,” the voice dropped to a sibilant whisper,”justice?” Drift lowered his chassis flat against Ultra Magnus’s, his hands sliding down the pinioned arms, thumbs flirting with the inner seams of the rerebraces.

Sensation fizzed along Ultra Magnus’s sensory network, the stirring ions sending phantom shivers through his frame, clouding his thinking. His body squirmed, twisting on the desk, Drift’s smaller frame riding his effortlessly, the scabbards on his hips flaring out to slide along Ultra Magnus’s thighs.

“Still haven’t told me to stop,” Drift purred, his EM field flaring, downy and tingling over the blue metal. “Guess that means you don’t want me to.”

Ultra Magnus tried to protest, but the only sound that came from his vocalizer was a rough, aroused growl.

Drift gave a husky laugh, worming his shoulders up higher, his mouth hovering just over Ultra Magnus’s. “Or,” he said, and his voice vibrated between them, a tiny tickle on Ultra Magnus’s lip plates, “You can, of course, finish it.” One corner of the mouthplates tipped up in a cheeky grin. “Unless you’re afraid.”

“Afraid.” He arched up, a line of current racing up his spinal struts. “Of what?” His voice didn’t quite manage the defiance he’d been aiming for.

“Afraid you’ll like it,” Drift continued, his voice throaty, aroused. “Kissing a criminal. A lawbreaker. An ex-Decepticon.” His fingers continued their maddening circuit, dipping low to flick quick circles around the headlamps.

“Stop talking.”

The optics glittered, close enough that he could feel the heat of the filaments behind them. “Make me.”

He tilted his head up, mouth meeting Drift’s, with a shock at the contact, at his own spontaneity, a small spark passing between their mouthplates, his glossa pushing against Drift’s lip plating. A laughing sort of growl, and the mouth parted over his, hands clutching around his blue chassis. Their glossas made contact, closing the circuit of current that was running between their bodies, jolting the overload from Ultra Magnus’s systems, whiting out his vid feed, his body taut with ecstasy, his hands clutching at the sleek steel of the sword.

He sagged back down, ebbing washes of current spinning down his sensor feed lines, helixes of pleasure making it feel as though his whole body was quivering, moving, every atom dancing and hyperaware.

Drift pulled away, satiny mouthplates pulling into that lopsided, unsteady smile. “That which doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” Drift murmured, slithering higher up Ultra Magnus’s body, his white chestplate hovering over Ultra Magnus’s face as he reached to release the sword.

Ultra Magnus rubbed his wrists, taking back his freedom as the smaller mech rolled off him, letting him sit up, at last. “Knew you had to let me go eventually.”

Drift slipped the sword back in its scabbard, unconcerned. “Of course.”

“Of course. “ Deadlock had, Ultra Magnus remembered, a terrible track record of thinking through consequences. Case in point. “I’m going to report this—immediately—to Rodimus.”

“Rodimus,” Drift levered himself off the table, hands sleeking down his own armor, “put me up to it.” He reached forward, hitting the release code on the cuffs.

“Up to it?” Ultra Magnus shook his wrists free, staring at the cuffs as though they’d betrayed him.

The blue optics flicked up to him. “Said you were wound too tight and I should do something about it.” The red spaulders rolled in a shrug. “Did something about it.”

Ultra Magnus pressed his mouthplates together, as though trying to crush the memory of the satiny tingly of the smaller mech’s kiss. That sounded--unfortunately--like Rodimus. Drift was a bad influence. Or the other way around. “You won’t get away with this, Drift.”

Drift reset his scabbards, straightening, tilting his head up to meet Ultra Magnus straight on, the mouth quirking in that odd smile again. “Look forward to it.”


End file.
